


Silver with Gold, Gold with Silver. Weird, right?

by amadeusshallnotberocked



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Best friends being dumb, Cow Eyes Giacometti, Fluff, Grand Prix Final, Love confession taken platonically, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Shoulda Woulda Coulda, gold medal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadeusshallnotberocked/pseuds/amadeusshallnotberocked
Summary: The night after the Barcelona Free Skate, Chris is reminded that whether on the ice or not, Viktor reigns true in the skating world. Standing at a final fifth place - two places from podium! - he wonders whether it's time to cash it in already. Maybe not.





	Silver with Gold, Gold with Silver. Weird, right?

One man's pleasure is another man's pain.

* * *

 

    That's not meant in a sexual way. Coming from me, I know, hard to believe. But that's not all I am. I've only done this theme for, what, a season? How many times have I qualified for this Prix, for these Finals? How many times have I stood on the right of Viktor? (People probably think I'm his right-hand man.. not that they're wrong, but.) More times than I can count.

    It really did take a toll on me when he revealed he was in Hasetsu with that sixth-place winner Katsuki. Whether intentional or not, knowing him he probably forgot to not tell anyone. ... (Despite the fact I goaded him into answering the booty call.) I'll admit, Yuuri had it in him to place on the podium. Nerves are truly a thing to be feared.

    I've been skating since I was around ten years old, give or take a few years. When I was thirteen and just began my Junior days, I remember how I used to idolize him. After all, who _didn't_ idolize Viktor? He was the boy to beat in those years. He was the one who practically got me to the Worlds. Ten, almost eleven years ago as I stood by the higher barricades and watched him leave the ice, I called to him. I expected him to ignore, to assume me apart of the cheering crowd, but... he _saw_ me. I told him my name, and he tossed me a cellophane-wrapped rose before saying he'd meet me at the Worlds. And well, I made it. I made it to the Worlds, and made the best friend I could ask for. That's when I really met Viktor Nikiforov.

    Still. How many times have I stood beside him? Too many times to count. Sometimes, I surprised the Surpriser, coming so close to beating his scores but always falling to silver. Silver. By tenths of points. Bronze. Everywhere he wasn't. But tonight, I left with nothing.

    It was almost late that night, as I walked back through the hotel lobby. I'd figure to take my mind off of things with a couple of drinks, and some relaxation. There were cafés around the city closeby, so no worry about getting lost in the process of finding one. Maybe back to the one we were at, just two days ago. Just as my gloved hand pressed against the glass window, I heard someone calling my name. Incessantly. I spun on my heels and found myself facing none other than the approaching Man of the Gods. _"Nikiforov!"_

    " _Chris!_ Thank goodness I caught you, I thought you'd already have left by now. I was watching you skate earlier, you've really come a long way since Cup of China!" the silver-haired man praised, causing a red blush to erupt across my cheeks and nose. "Master of mature Eros. I'll have to beat you from that title." he joked. Then his face morphed to something mischievous as he eyed my coat pockets. "Did you enjoy the.. _souvenirs_ we left you?"

    My initially shocked expression turned playfully cross, remembering how I caught sight of Viktor and Yuuri posing for pictures requested to be taken on my phone. Sometimes, I really regret giving him the passcode and not changing it. I shifted my weight onto one of my hips, crossing my arms loosely over my chest. "At least they're free," I huffed, "otherwise I'd ask for a refund." That got him to laugh at least, and God, did he have an angelic laugh... I couldn't help but crack up, too.

    So there we were, laughing like a pair of idiots in front of the hotel doors. A few moments passed, and we struggled to compose ourselves again.

    He wiped a couple of tears away with his black trench coat sleeve, and then jokingly reached out to ruffle my hair. **"Non-!"** I yelped, leaning until I bent backwards, causing him to lean too far forwards and topple on top of me, which sent us both to the floor in another flurry of giggles. "What was it you wanted, anyway? Get off of me, before I get this new coat dirty!"

    "Oops." Viktor neatly rolled off of me and onto his feet, then held his hand out for me to grab onto. I stared at it for a moment, then up at him. He looked down at me with a silent, "don't you dare".

    _I dared._

    Without breaking eye contact, I opened my mouth and moved for his hand, but he recoiled too quickly. I bit the air where it had been just before. **"Hет! Hет, нет, нет!"** he exclaimed, which just made me giggle even more and push myself to my feet.

    "Didn't you learn better than to do that about eight years ago, _Coach?_ " I mused to him, brushing the dust off my coat and placing my hands atop my hips.

    "I thought you'd stop that!" he whined, cradling his ungloved hands. I had to get used to actually seeing his hands in public, now. "Ugh. Anyway, I came to give you a present." Present? My relatively naked eyes followed the gold ring on his finger as it slipped into his pocket. Hazel then met piercing blue. "Don't spoil, shut your eyes."

    I just snorted, then did as told. "Whatever." Great, now I couldn't stop thinking of his eyes. This was not a part of the plan. ... Well, none of this was. Surprise. There was the sound of clinking and rattling, then the rustle of his clothes as he stretched forward. Something warm draped around my neck and something hard hit my chest. After chewing my bottom lip for a second, I asked: "Can I open my eyes now?"

    "So _impatient._ Go ahead." So I did, and dropped my head to gaze down at the present. A reversible Swiss flag lanyard, and on it, a solid gold medal. I gingerly held it in my hands, spinning it in the light, casting incredulous looks to the Russian, who wore his signature smile. "This is for you. You deserve it."

    "Viktor.." I began, my eyes shooting upwards to search his face, "where did you...? 'Christophe Giacometti,' 'Best Friend'." I read off the engraved words, before running my thumb over them. Was this _really_ happening? I glanced up at him again, and he started to laugh. A warm, semi-relieved, happy laugh.

    "You've been tailing me for over a decade, Chris. You may think you always lost to me, but in reality you've always won. You're my best friend, don't you ever question that." I felt his hands clasp onto my shoulders, but my eyes never left my reflection in the gold. "You've always been my best friend and you always will be. To have you by my side on podium means everything. Now, bring it in." He punctuated himself by brushing his bangs out of his eye with one hand, finally allowing the left to be visible. I stared into them for a few seconds, before I happily fell right into his arms and shed a few tears into his coat.

    "You might need a new coat by time you let me go," I mumbled into his shoulder as he embraced me. My face burrowed into the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of the Spanish ocean breeze. This was the first gold medal I'd received while in his presence in the history of ever. He _always_ stole the light.

    "I'll just buy another." he answered, holding me close. His heart was pounding, and I wondered what was he so afraid of... but concerning, was my heart beating with his. He must have noticed, because I felt him change his breathing so that it did not change. We stood there for what felt like a happy eternity, as I found myself silently replaying our memories.

    The Junior division. Striking small chatter that bloomed into full conversations. The way his eyes twinkled when I called to him, the way my heart quickened when he called to me. Our childhood times in Valais. Me sitting and braiding his hair while teaching him basic French, our Swiss dialect, of course. Being open about our lives and thoughts (for the most part), always unafraid to ask new questions and wonder, but never did we explore. The media's rumors of us being together... how I wished for that. Our days fighting not only others but specifically one another, as we raced for the podium. I had to do it one more time.

    "Chris?" the Russian began, his eyes a bit startled. I had pulled away suddenly, I suppose. I cupped his cheeks gently; I could see realization strike him. Carefully, I guided his head close, before kissing the left cheek. Then I repeated, with the right. His face heated up so quickly, but the light in his eyes told me all I needed to know. He hadn't forgotten. The sincere, warm smile on his face confirmed it.

    **"Je t'aime, Viktor,"** I breathed, trailing my fingers across his face. _Golden ring._ I pulled away from him then, putting a small distance between us. I bowed. Viktor's face flickered to surprise for a few seconds, before it faded out into a warm, joyous smile. I'd never had the courage to tell him that, out loud. Until now. When he was freshly engaged, happy. Happier than I'd seen him in years.

    **"Je t'aime aussi,** Christophe," he replied, bowing in answer. Then he stood with me, and returned his hair to normal. "Now, come on! We have an entire night to celebrate, let's not waste it standing in this lobby." I couldn't help but laugh as he took hold of my wrist, dragging me straight out of the door and onto the sidewalks as I tucked the medal under my sweater.

    Viktor Nikiforov. A man made of surprises. A man made of good intentions and bad executions. He was going to thank me for telling him to go to Hasetsu after that boy.

A sort-of dictionary.

> **"Non-!"** = "No!"  
> **"Hет! Hет, нет, нет!"** = "No! No, no, no!"  
> **"Je t'aime,"** = "I love you,"  
> **"Je t'aime aussi,"** = "I love you too,"

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell what one of my favorite pairings is, yet?


End file.
